The Name Boys
by a. cavall
Summary: Al and Scorpius are destined to travel through life with terrible, terrible names. Sometimes, however, they find that it isn't all that bad. "They were friends because of their names. It went from there." AS/S one shot.


Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Well, a little bit, but nothing important.

Pairing: Albus Severus/Scorpius

Rating: PG

Author's note: I love these two, they are my unlikely HP OTP. But since there is about nothing of them in the book, their fics can vary dramatically, and even if they are well written and well plotted, they might not be what I want (that isn't to say that I haven't read a lot of brilliant ones). So of course, this was inevitable, as I wanted to leave my own mark and try and imagine this going my way. Anyway, this has been sitting in my head for a while. So I figured, what better way to procrastinate during exams than to finish it?

* * *

_**The Name Boys**_

* * *

They were friends because of their names.

Whether for sentimental value or family tradition, it was the sad truth that both their fathers had cursed them to bear a ridiculous title for all eternity.

"Albus Severus Potter," read out the professor when it was his turn to be sorted. A few people exchanged glances, smiles, looks of disbelief.

"I'm changing it when I'm 18," he had said to no one in particular, before marching forward. The slight blonde boy beside him had just shrugged. When his own name was read out later, his eyes had sought out the boy with green eyes and black hair who was sitting uncomfortably at the Ravenclaw table.

"Scorpius?" the boy had mouthed. Scorpius had just grinned, and within minutes had found his place beside him.

It went from there.

--

_3__rd__ Year – February_

Detention was a new experience for Scorpius.

His arm was getting sore from polishing trophies, and he still had half the room to go. He glanced over at his companion, who was humming cheerily to himself as he sorted hospital wing admission slips.

_Why are we friends? Why did I choose Albus Severus Potter?_

He glared down at the trophy in his hand. Unsurprisingly, it didn't respond.

From outside, the roar of the quidditch stadium grew louder.

"We're missing something."

Albus stopped his humming and gazed longingly at the solitary window that overlooked entirely the wrong part of the grounds. "A goal maybe."

"Yeah."

"Well we're missing something that should have been happening because of me," Albus sighed. "How do you think I'll feel if they decide to replace me with Deirdre Andrews for good?"

He paused to gaze unseeingly at the window for a few seconds more, and then went back to the slips. Scorpius frowned at the back of his friend's head.

_Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it_. It was no good. He couldn't hold himself back.

"Well whose fault is that?"

Albus turned around again. "You're not still angry, Scor?"

"Shouldn't I be? You didn't _have_ to test out your new Weasley Mail-order Snapdragons in Transfiguration!"

"Well it's better than any other class," Al said defensively. "At least I might've been able to pass them off as something I'd transfigured."

"Yeah, that worked out well," Scorpius responded bitterly, spreading his arms as if to draw Al's attention to where they were.

Al rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Look, I said I'm sorry. I think I'm suffering more for this than you." He looked at the window, and another roar from the crowd was heard.

"If you were," Scorpius said pointedly, "you'd be the one developing cramps all down your right side."

"We can switch if you want."

"That isn't the point!"

"Isn't it?"

There was a pause.

"Well, ok maybe. I just…Al, my dad is going to kill me when he gets an owl about this."

"I'll protect you Scor. I can just hex him, yeah?"

Scorpius couldn't help but smile at the image of Al, who was tall for a 13 year old but still, undeniably, a 13 year old, taking on the might of Mr. Draco Malfoy.

"Yeah, sure Al." He took a couple of trophies to polish and moved to sit next to his friend on the floor. Al grinned at him.

"Hey, want to see something cool?"

"It's not more Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, is it?"

"Nah, look, I found your dad."

Al held up a small blue slip that he had set to the side a few minutes ago and read aloud, "Admissions, Draco Malfoy, 6th Year Slytherin. Cuts to face and chest – magical cause."

He offered the card to Scorpius, who took it, delighted. "I guess my dad got into his fair share of trouble as well."

When the howler for Scorpius came three days later, it was Al who grabbed it, practically fell out of his seat for running, lunged through the Great Hall entrance and tumbled out into the grounds just as the voice of Astoria Malfoy began to shout. Scorpius came running after and found Al sitting on the grass, beaming up at him, the howler muffled but still yelling under his foot.

As they erupted with laughter, Scorpius felt utterly, utterly glad that he had had the good fortune of a stupid name to be shared with the boy beside him.

--

_5__th__ Year - April_

"When I'm married," Albus announced apropos of nothing, "I'm going to name my children Bob, Jim, and Sally." He was lying on his stomach on his canopy bed, a textbook open in front of him (although if he had been asked at that moment what the page he was reading was about, he wouldn't have been able to answer).

"Not Reginald Arthurial Beatrix the Third?" Scorpius offered as he rummaged through his trunks for a pair of socks.

"I think," Al said, rolling onto his back, "that I might just pass on that one."

Scorpius glanced up from where he had been crouching, looking thoughtful. "I don't think I have that luxury. My grandfather is called Lucius, my father is called Draco. I think I'm expected to name my son Rattlesnake or something."

Albus snorted, and his dark hair fell attractively into his eyes, which turned once again to gaze unfocusedly at the textbook. He shifted, and his shirt came up slightly. Scorpius paused, trying not to stare but failing. He hadn't meant to notice, it was just that these past few weeks he had found that he couldn't help it. He shook himself.

"Come on, I don't want to be late again."

Abandoning the sock search and throwing on his shoes without any, he and Al made their way out of their dormitory. Al looked like he was thinking hard on something as they crossed the common room, and as they exited their tower he announced, "You know, Celia Atwood asked me out." He looked at Scorpius. "What should I do?"

"What do you mean 'what should I do'?" interjected Harry Longbottom, who had been waiting for them outside in the hall. "Since when do you not say yes to girls throwing themselves at you? Morning, by the way."

"Morning," Scorpius replied. They hurried down the corridor towards the staircase. Harry was playing with his gold and red scarf and not looking where he was going, making him veer wildly into the path of several oncoming students. Scorpius had to grab him before he fell down the stairs.

"I don't know," Albus continued, "its just getting…boring."

"Boring?" Scorpius asked questioningly, as Harry exploded "what?!"

"Yeah, it never goes anywhere. Well, you know, its goes _somewhere_ but not…more than a few times, if you know what I mean."

Harry laughed, and they walked in silence for a bit until they reached the classroom. Albus made to walk through the door, but Scorpius reached out to stop him, grabbing his shoulder. Al swung around and looked at him quizzically.

"So what you're saying is you want a relationship?" Scorpius asked, and Albus shrugged.

"Maybe, I guess."

"Well why don't you try and get one going with Celia then?" Harry offered. Albus was looking like this wasn't what he had wanted to hear, but Scorpius couldn't think of any other option, so he nodded in agreement. Al sighed, and then picked his head up and smiled at them.

"Yeah, ok. Can we go in?"

They pushed through the door and found seats at the back of the room. Scorpius couldn't help but notice the look of disappointment that had made its way on to Al's face; he didn't understand it.

But then, he also didn't understand why he felt a little that way too.

--

_6__th__ Year - November_

Having stopped to ask several different people in several different years and houses for Al's whereabouts on his search of the castle, Scorpius found himself inundated with misleading and contradicting information. As a result, it took him half an hour to find Al, who was in their dormitory and, as it transpired had been apparently looking just as unsuccessfully for him.

"I need to talk to you," both said together, and Al laughed.

"Apparently we live in a sitcom," he said, but Scorpius didn't understand, and when Al tried to explain was so confused by the concept of television that he couldn't get the rest of it. Al gave up and sat on Scor's bed.

"You want to go first?"

"I don't know," Scorpius said, finding a spot to lean against the wall. He was trying to keep up an appearance of calmness, but was seconds away from coming out with the shakes, so allowed himself to slide down onto the ground. It was uncomfortable, but he didn't really care. "I'm kind of nervous. I don't suppose you can go first?"

Al leaned back on his friend's bed, and his head fell heavily against the headboard. His fingers absentmindedly began to play with one of the tassels on Scor's ridiculously embroidered family heirloom of a pillow. "Celia and I broke up."

"Oh, I'm sorry Al. You ok?"

"Surprisingly fine, actually." Al looked up at him, and their gaze held for an instant. "I think I knew it was coming. We didn't have the greatest time in the summer holidays."

Scorpius nodded. "I got that impression from your letters actually. But I thought you were ok these past few weeks."

"I thought so too, for a bit. We were, I guess, but then we just…weren't."

Momentarily distracted from his own impending news, Scor smiled in what he hoped was a sympathetic way at his friend. Al smiled back, then picked up the edge of the pillow again.

"So, your turn."

A fresh wave of terror broke in Scorpius' stomach. He dropped his head.

"Scor?"

"I'm…oh god." He squashed his fingers flat out on the floor. "I don't know how I can just…Al, I'm…"

"Gay?" Al finished. Scorpius' head shot back up. His stomach felt like it was about to dissolve, or explode, or possibly both at once.

"How did you-"

"Scor, I'm your best friend. I can work these things out you know."

Scorpius stared at him, feeling an odd combination of shock, horror and..._relief_.

"You knew?"

"I suspected."

"You don't mind?"

Al let out a bark of laughter, and the fear that Scor had been overrun by ever since they had returned for 6th year dissipated. "Why would I mind? Believe me, I really don't."

Scorpius felt himself fall sideways onto the ground; his head landed there with a thud. Al crawled to the end of the bed and hung halfway off it, grinning down at his friend. Scorpius shifted slightly so that he could see Al better.

"You're the first person I've told, you know."

"Not even your parents?"

Scor shook his head, an action he found rather difficult in the position he was in. He looked up at Al, met his deep green eyes, and felt his stomach twinge.

Al, oblivious to the effect he was having on his friend at that very moment, rolled onto his side. His eyes were suddenly glittering with excitement.

"Want to get something to eat?" He hopped off the bed and stuck out his hand, which Scorpius used to pull himself up.

"Didn't we just have dinner?"

"So?"

Scorpius paused, then grinned.

"Sure, why not?"

And he felt a quiet yet happy feeling of absolute acceptance when Al held his hand, for the purpose of pulling him forwards maybe but still holding his hand, all the way out into the hall.

--

_7__th__ Year – December_

Christmas morning was bright and cold. Scorpius found himself awake at 6 am in a house full of sleeping Potters, who were old enough to not need to wake at the crack of dawn in a mad rush for the presents. Scorpius did not fall into this category either; he was merely a light sleeper who had woken to use the bathroom and been unable to get back to sleep.

So he lay on his inflatable mattress (bouncing ever so slightly; the novelty still hadn't worn off) with his eyes closed, trying to feel calm and relaxed but instead finding himself bored within minutes.

He flung off his blankets. The cold smacked into him, and he scrambled to gather them around his body once more.

He stood, cautiously, because the inflatable mattress was wobbling beneath him. He pulled the blankets tighter, and glanced over at Al's bed. Al was sprawled flat on his stomach, the blankets curling around him in a curious entanglement, his mouth open and sort-of-smiling into the pillow. It looked as if he was trying to eat it. Scorpius grinned, and decided to head downstairs.

The scene, he found, was quite touching. A lively, well-used Christmas tree stood in the centre of a large but comfortable-feeling family room. The ornaments looked as if they had begun as a matching set and expanded over the years to include an odd variety of individually-sold and home-made and bits and pieces. It was such a contrast from the one he knew was at his house, an impersonal tree in an impersonal room. The happiness he had felt the moment his father had said yes to his spending Christmas with the Potters returned in full force.

Scorpius moved into the kitchen and decided to make some coffee. Unfortunately, as was the inherent difficulty in attempting to serve oneself in someone else's house, he couldn't find the mugs.

"Top left cupboard," he muttered as he stared at rows of plastic cups. "I swear they used to be here."

"Dad said Mum went on a weird organising bent some time during the term," Scorpius heard, and turned to find Al standing behind him. He took in what Al was wearing.

"Aren't you cold?"

Al glanced down at his bare chest, and shook his head. "Not really." He grinned, and gestured at the kitchen shelves. "Anyway, it isn't you; even I have no idea where anything is any more."

They set about opening cupboards and draws, trying to find mugs, but were unsuccessful.

"We could use your plastic cups."

"Too hot, we'll burn our hands."

"Right."

Twenty minutes later, they sat by the tree with two bowls of instant coffee, watching the lights twinkle.

"When I was younger," Al said, "we used to do this." He leaned back bit by bit until he was on the floor, and then wriggled until he was under the branches of the tree. Scorpius could no longer see his head, so it was a disembodied voice that said, "come on Scor. It's pretty."

Scorpius had never been allowed to play near his tree. It was the ornaments; "too valuable, too breakable" he had been told time and time again. So he was both excited yet instinctively cautious as he placed his drink to the side and lay down, moving into place next to Al.

The living room disappeared, and his eyes were transfixed by the myriad of rainbow lights, glimmering in a haze of green. He grinned.

"This is great Al."

Al made a pleased sort of noise, and reached over to touch Scorpius on the shoulder. Scorpius felt like electricity had struck him, the good kind if there was such a thing. Al left his hand where it was and shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable.

"Would now be too much of a predictably soppy time to say merry Christmas, Scor?"

"Yeah, a bit."

Al laughed, and Scorpius smiled. "Merry Christmas, Al."

--

_7__th__ Year - April_

It was an easy kind of day.

The wayward breeze had ceased to bluster and blow like it had done for the past three weeks, and could instead be found playing happily with leaves, blowing them into small circles and flipping them casually into the lake. The sun was high in the radiantly blue sky and battering lightly at the ground below, which predictably did nothing back.

Al sat on the grass, his books dumped unceremoniously besides him, his head tilted back against the trunk of an oak. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of utter calm.

Scorpius kept his eyes on him as he strolled across the grounds, wandering how someone as loud and, for lack of a better word, bouncy as Al could achieve such perfect tranquility. When he reached the tree, he took care to position himself as quietly as possible into a comfortable position.

He waited, but Al did not choose to acknowledge his presence. He thought he would give it some time.

After a minute, he whispered, "Al?"

"Yeah?" came the also whispered response. Apart from his lips, Al moved nothing.

"Have you done your potions essay?"

"No."

"Are you going to do it?"

"I hope so," Al replied, and his eyes flickered open. "Can we stop whispering?"

"Ok," Scorpius whispered, and then in a normal voice said, "it's just that I have no idea how to start mine."

"Some Ravenclaw you are." Al reached for his bag and pulled out a battered piece of parchment. "I made an essay plan, if you think that might help."

"It might," Scorpius considered, and taking the offering, scanned it. "I don't suppose you have one for Transfiguration?"

Al grinned. "Even better, I've done this one. You can read it if you want, but I expect to see your Charms one when we get back."

"It's a deal," Scorpius said with a nod, and Al pulled the essay from his bag with a flourish.

The wind, which had been pottering about nearby, suddenly felt that this was the opportunity it had been waiting for. A gust swept over them, plucking Al's proffered essay out of his hand and into the air.

"Oh shit," Scorpius said. He jumped to his feet and lunged with uncharacteristic inelegance after the airborne parchment. Al followed suit, although decidedly more cheerfully. As the essay danced through the air, he flung himself after it with a laugh and a whoop, coming to a halt at the edge of the lake and narrowly avoiding plowing into Scorpius.

Together they watched as the parchment sunk gracefully onto the surface of the water. Scorpius drew out his wand.

"Accio parchment!"

Nothing happened.

"That doesn't usually happen," Scorpius said with a frown, tapping the wand on his leg a few times before trying again, with similar results. "There must be something about the lake."

"Maybe the giant squid is holding onto it or something," Al said, amusement clear in his voice. Scorpius turned to look at him. "Scor, I put an anti-summoning jinx on my bed last night for practice."

"Your bed?"

"Yeah, my bed. I guess it got some of my stuff too." As if to prove a point, he turned and tried to accio his bag. It didn't move. "Like my bag, apparently."

Scorpius sighed. "I suppose the essay was in your bag at the time?"

"It was," Al confirmed.

"You didn't think to lift the jinx?" Scorpius asked, staring at the inert satchel. Al ran a hand through his hair.

"I forgot, I guess. It's not like I thought I'd need the sheets off my bed any time in the near future."

Scorpius frowned. _Only to Al_, he thought, _could this actually happen._ With a sigh, he bent down and began to take off his shoes. Al stared at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get it," Scorpius replied, his voice thick with determination. "It's my fault."

"I was the one holding it, and the one who jinxed it" Al said fairly, but Scorpius shook his head.

"Yeah, but I made you get it out in the first place. Should have done my essay last night." With that, he stepped into the water.

"Ow, fuck its cold."

"You know, the ink has probably run and everything. Come off it; get back on dry land Scor."

"A restoration charm, simple as that," Scorpius said through gritted teeth as the water rose to his knees. He pushed further out, ignoring the unpleasant sensations going on beneath his feet, until the water was pushing at his chest.

The parchment floated teasingly nearby.

"Al, can you throw me that stick?" he called back to the boy on the shore, who picked up a roughly straight piece of wood twice the length of his arm.

"This one?"

"Yeah."

"Scorp, this isn't a stick, it's a bloody javelin. Are you sure I'm not going to spear you through the heart or anything?"

"Just throw it!"

The stick landed with a sploshing noise slightly behind and to the left of Scorpius. He bobbed over to it, grabbed it, and made his way back to where he had been. He probed the oversized stick out towards the paper, but it wasn't long enough, so he moved forward; the water was uncomfortably lapping at his neck.

"I think I can almost-"

He lunged, and the stick went with him, slicing into the water beneath him at an odd angle. He felt himself falling under the water; it flooded over his face and into his nose and ears. The stick jabbed into his stomach. He tried to push it down, and it stabbed him in the chest. He lunged away from it, felt the weight of the lake on top of him, and lost all sense of anything.

It was painfully cold and terrifyingly dark, and when he opened his eyes there was no change. He tried to find up, but nothing made sense, and he found himself thrashing wildly in the icy blackness.

_Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing_. The line floated through his head. He wondered how oxygen deprived one had to be to start equating drowning with Shakespeare.

In one last effort, he gathered his strength and flung himself forward.

He didn't know if he had moved or not. Nothing had changed.

People were silly to say that in your last moments, your life flashed before your eyes. There was no way all of the crap that goes on from day to day could ever be so relevant. What Scorpius found overwhelmingly, as what he perceived to be his death surrounded him in the depths of the inky, icy water, was just a name, over and over again. A name, a face, regret and longing and love and fear.

_Al._

And then he felt something else.

A body pressed against his. Hands gripped his shoulders and pulled, and he felt himself moving.

They fell up and out of the water. The ground met them almost immediately, and Scorpius felt sand against his face and the weight of Al above him.

He could feel his lungs burn, and tried to gulp in as much air as he could; but this took effort that he found he didn't have, and so he lapsed into the shallow, uneven breaths that he could manage. He tried to say something, but all strength had, for the moment, deserted him. So he lay with eyes closed, impossibly still.

Unfortunately, this was making the wrong kind of impression on Al, who was getting no response to his increasingly frantic prompts of "Scor?"

Scorpius felt Al roll off him, and the lack of pressure was wonderful. Moments later, this bliss was shattered as he felt foreign hands, arms, shoulders pushing against him. Bright light battered at his eyelids, and suddenly he was on his back and Al was once more above him, knees either side of his chest, hands on his shoulders.

Shaking him.

"Scorpius! Wake up!"

Scorpius didn't want to wake up. He wondered if perhaps he just lay still, his assailant might leave him alone.

Moments later, what was unmistakably the palm of a very cold and wet hand slapped painfully into his left cheek. He decided to revise his plan.

"Nyur," he said, not intending to sound like a zombie but succeeding anyway.

"Scor!" cried Al, awash with relief but not shifting from where he sat. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"No," Scorpius replied, refusing to open his eyes.

"Fine, what is your name? Full name."

He didn't want to talk, but he could feel Albus prodding him annoyingly in the shoulder. "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," he answered in a tired monotone.

"And mine?"

"Albus Several Potter."

The prodding stopped, and he couldn't help but grin as he heard Albus breathe in sharply.

"I'm joking you idiot." Scorpius pushed his heavy eyelids open, and froze.

Large green eyes stared into his.

Al's face was hovering just inches from his. Scorpius could see every dot on his skin, every line, could feel Al's breath brush over his face.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch.

Every nerve in his body came alive, every sense went into overdrive. The feel of the dirt and rocks and sand beneath his body; the smell of the grass and the salty lake; even the taste of the cool winter air in his mouth. He could sense it all, but mostly, he could sense Al.

Al's hands on his shoulders, Al's mint-and-celery breath, the echo of Al's breathing in the way his body rose and fell, the faint scent of seawater Al's clothes were giving off.

Al's green eyes burning into his.

Feelings flooded through him, feelings accompanied by thoughts and memories and desires. The memory of the way he had felt in those last few seconds of escaping life, when his every thought had been filled with Al, filtered through his mind; but it was overshadowed by a much simpler feeling, the want and need to press his lips to those of the boy that was sitting on his chest.

The strength of this desire was overwhelming, but he would not submit. Rejection seemed assured, and fear had seeped into every part of his body. His fight-or-flight response mechanism kicked in.

Scorpius chose flight.

But flight did not choose him.

He struggled to get up, to run, but Al was surprisingly heavy and kept him pinned. He did, however, remove his face from the close proximity and stared down at Scorpius with a quizzical expression.

"Are you being a worm or something? Stop wriggling. You're ruining it."

Scorpius lifted his head slightly.

"Ruining it?"

"The moment. The…" Al started to elaborate, but thought better of it, instead saying, "just, the moment."

Scorpius' head dropped back to the sand below, and he realized that he still felt very tired. He didn't want to try and understand what Al was saying.

"You have gunk in your hair, Scorp."

Scorpius smiled, his eyes closed. "I'm the one ruining the moment?"

There was a silence. Scorpius felt that he should make an effort, and set about making his brain think. His brain responded, and finally he seemed to process what Al had been saying, what he had just said. His head shot up again.

"What moment?" But his brain was finally catching up to his words. He knew very well what moment.

"The moment," Al replied, sounding exasperated. "Our moment. That we had. Just then. You didn't…no, you didn't, did you. Ok then."

Defeat dripped from his words as he made to get off Scorpius. Scorp reached up and locked Al's hands in place.

Their eyes met with that same intensity as before. Scorpius smiled, and his stomach buzzed with fear and nervousness, but also hope. "Like this?"

"Yeah," Al breathed. His head dropped a fraction lower. "Just like this."

"But I ruined it."

"Yes." A fraction lower.

"Sorry."

The word hung in the air.

"That's o- Oh, bugger it," Al muttered, and his face covered the rest of the distance.

Their lips met.

Heat shot through Scorpius' body. One hand reached up to find Al's head, to pull him closer; the other stayed firmly locked to Al's hand on his shoulder. But after a few wonderful seconds, he felt Al pull away. He stared up, confused.

Al frowned. "You never answered properly. How do I know you don't have brain damage or something?"

"You're unbelievable," Scorpius laughed. "Fine. Your name is Albus Severus Potter. You are named after two headmasters of Hogwarts, which is where we are now, on the ground, outside, beside the lake. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the date is the 5th of-"

"Ok, ok, stop it," Albus said with a grin.

"But I'm not done yet. I missed one very important fact."

"What, water is wet? I'm heavy?"

"No," Scorpius said, and stared at the boy on his chest. "I think…I think I'm a little bit in love with you, Al."

"Well if you only think it, it isn't a fact then, is it."

Scorpius bit his lip. "What if I told you I knew it?"

"I would say, 'just a little bit?'"

And he leant down to kiss him once more, quickly, and then drew back ever so slightly, so that his lips brushed over Scorpius' but didn't quite touch. Their eyes met.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy… I love you too."

And for once, both were glad of their overly long names, so long seen as implements of torment, not often realized as instruments of fate.

They were friends because of their names.

It went from there.

* * *


End file.
